


With The Blood From Their Hearts

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Budapest, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, Hiding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: They are comrades in arms, complimenting each other in ways neither of them were ready for.





	With The Blood From Their Hearts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justanothersong](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothersong/gifts).



> Don't ever say I never gave you anything. ;-)

"I'm shot."

Clint sounded vaguely surprised as he inspected the wound, peeling his shirt sleeve away from the skin. The fabric was sticky with blood, and he grimaced as he tried to see if the bullet had gone through or if it was lodged in his bicep. Beside him, Natasha was reloading her pistols, having already ripped a piece of cloth into a bandage for her left thigh, which was still leaking. Beyond the crumbling barrier of the warehouse, they could hear the grid search getting closer. He fumbled for his automatic, his bow having been rendered useless. His last arrow spent, he was glad he'd remembered to pack his guns.

"Well, now we'll have matching scars."

She was glad when he snorted out a laugh, because it meant he was still with her. And because it was a distraction from anything stupid and sentimental like worry. He'd been sent to _kill_ her, and the only reason they were still together was because a strike team sent by Hydra arrived. She might have been done with them, but clearly they weren't done with her. She couldn't let herself get bogged down by concern for Barton. 

"Not enough light in here."

They'd been on the move for the past four days. Eating on the fly, taking turns sleeping while the other kept watch, neither completely trusting that closing their eyes wouldn't result in a bullet to make the sleep permanent. He'd seen her file, all four dozen pages of it, and that was just the information that SHIELD actually had. God alone knew what wasn't public record about the infamous Black Widow. Clint sat up straighter, his back aligned with the wall. He checked his arm again, noticed that the shot had cut through the meat of his bicep but had - thank Christ - missed the artery. He'd have bled out by now if those Hydra assholes were better shots. The smell of his blood mixed with hers, that and their sweat combining to form a pungent stink.

"I've got an extraction scheduled. If we can make the rendezvous point..."

"We?"

Natasha looked at him sideways, and the heart-shaped face caught a ray of sunlight that found a hole in the wall. Her hands were still working, replacing two empty clips with two full ones. There were voices somewhere close by, shouting orders. The SHIELD agent's eyes were a clear green. And he was just _looking_ at her.

"Did you forget your mission, Agent Barton?"

"The mission's fucked, in case you didn't notice."

It was her turn to laugh now, and he went back to reloading. He'd seen...something in her, some unknown quantity, and that had stayed his hand when it had come time to take the shot. Killing a woman hadn't sat well with him anyway, despite the intel he'd been given before the flight. He knew who and part of _what_ she was, and though Coulson would kick over it, if that quantity could be turned in the opposite direction....

Natasha tried to close out the possibility that he was offering her hope. She already owed him her life, and if she suspected he'd missed his target on purpose that was locked in a place so hidden not even she could find it. She was free of Hydra now, as long as she could keep out of reach. Why turn to another organization when she'd finally become her own person?

_Because he knows the things you've done and still sees you as human. If he didn't, you'd be dead already._

"I'll think about it."

Clint had finally completed the process of reloading, and he set the pistol next to him on the floor. His wound had clotted, internal mechanisms pulling together to stop the bleeding, and he looked at his fingers, which were streaked with blood. They'd both shed blood and scarred their flesh, become hardened by losses, and he accepted her terse words with a nod. If they could get past the strike team, the helicopter Coulson had promised to send was due to show up in two hours.

"Good enough."

She looked at him fully in the poor light, found him offering her a hand that was tacky with spilled blood, and her smaller fingers, equally reddened, laced through his. Fitting, that she should partially give her word and seal the deal with a crimson-stained handclasp. Fitting for both of them, because this was a man who could and had killed without regret. And that made them equals in a way that was far too uncomfortable for Natasha to examine.

"I...owe you."

"All of us owe somebody."


End file.
